


It is a wise father that knows his own child

by Sharpiefan



Series: The Shakespeare Series [1]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Randomness, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: Robbie is entranced by his father's reading of Shakespeare and wants to know more. Random fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lord Rotherham is still Lord Surrey at this point, and they live in Surrey Lodge in Cheshire, not Rotherham Park in Yorkshire. (The move will be another story entirely. I may even write it one day!) Robbie is six years old and Richard is ten. For those who are counting, Viola isn't yet one.
> 
> Kind of a bookend to [There is much music in this little organ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8595487)

_It is a wise father that knows his own child._  
  ~The Merchant of Venice, Act Two, Scene Two

 

**Surrey Lodge, Summer 1788**

  
   
Robbie did not know what the time was when he and Richard were taken downstairs to Mama and Papa. All he knew was that it must be late because dinner was over and they were in the drawing room with Aunt and Uncle Greystone. They made their bows, very properly (though Richard's was better – his was _always_ better, which wasn't fair).  
   
Someone said something about Shakespeare, which Robbie didn't understand, only that when Papa said he and Richard should go upstairs to bed, Mama smiled at them and said they could stay up a bit longer, if they were very good.  
   
Robbie didn't like being good, it meant sitting still and not saying anything, but if it meant he could stay up longer, he would be the goodest he had _ever_ been.  
   
Richard got a chair to sit in, but Robbie found himself sitting on the sofa next to Mama, and almost didn't dare to keep breathing in case he wasn't being good, and got sent to bed early.  
   
He didn't understand what Papa said when he said about Mark Anthony's speech from Julius Caesar. That didn't make sense - Julius Caesar was one of the heads on top of the shelves in the library – the one with the big nose and funny crown made out of leaves.  
   
And then Papa wasn't quite Papa any more. He was talking in Papa's voice, but the words were funny and he wasn't really walking like Papa any more, either.  
   
“ _Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;_  
_I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him._  
_The evil that men do lives after them;_  
_The good is oft interred with their bones;_  
_So let it be with Caesar..."_  
   
He stared, entranced, though the words were difficult, but it didn't matter because it sounded so wonderful.  
   
He had dozed off before the end of the speech, Mama's arm around him, though he had tried to stay awake so he wouldn't miss anything.

  
   
* * *

  
The next day was horrible grey rain. Richard wanted to sit and read a book, and Robbie just stared out of the window at the rain, wishing it was sunny and he could go outside. He watched two raindrops running down the window, and tried to remember all the strange funny words Papa had said last night. The clock was loud on the mantelpiece, and when the two raindrops reached the bottom of the window-pane, he turned around.  
   
Richard was still reading his book, and Nurse was busy in the other room with Andrew and Baby Viola. Robbie looked at Richard, who was ignoring him, and bit his lip before crossing to the door and tiptoeing into the corridor outside.  
   
He knew how to get to the library, of course, but it was a really big house and the further he got, the more sure he was that he was going to be in trouble, lots of trouble. He nearly went back at one point, but he was very close and wanted to hear those words again.  
   
“Oh.” He hadn't expected Papa to be in the library, sitting behind the desk, and took a step backwards. It was too late, though.  
   
“What on earth are you doing down here?”  
   
There was a hand squeezing round his chest, which was strange because there wasn't anyone else there, and a hard lump in his throat as if he'd tried to swallow a bit of potato without chewing it properly.  
   
“I...” He twisted his fingers behind his back and tried to think how to say it. Richard borrowed books from the library all the time, and people always wanted him to be more like Richard, so why did he feel like he was being naughty?  
   
“I... wanted to... to read the words you said last night,” he managed, looking at the floor, and remembered to be polite, like Richard. “Sir.”  
   
“You came downstairs because you wanted to read the speech I performed last night?” Papa didn't sound angry like Robbie had expected, but he didn't think he wanted to look up, so he just nodded.  
   
“ _Can_ you read?”  
   
Oh. He hadn't even thought of that, just the words themselves and the funny, wonderful way they sounded.  
   
“A... a bit, sir.”  
   
“Ah. Come here.”  
   
Papa wouldn't say that if he was angry, would he? Robbie looked up. Papa didn't look angry. He was sort-of smiling, in fact. Robbie's knees felt a bit like the wobbly afters they had sometimes that Nurse called 'blancmange', but he managed to cross to in front of Papa's big desk, where he tried to stand straight, like Richard.  
   
“No, I mean, come here.”  
   
Oh. He came round the desk, and was picked up to sit on Papa's lap. He sat as still as he could as Papa opened a book on the desk and pulled it across so that Robbie could see the words.  
   
“This is a play called Julius Caesar, and it was written nearly two hundred years ago by a man called William Shakespeare. The bit I read is near the end, here.”  
   
It was all words and no pictures, not like the chapbooks and things in the nursery, but it helped that Papa read slowly, with a finger under the words, pointing to them as he said them.  
   
He didn't know how long they had sat like that, carefully reading the words through, Robbie stumbling through them and being corrected on the harder words, Papa patiently explaining the meaning of the words he didn't know, when there was a knock on the door and Nurse came in. She stopped and gave a quick bob, wringing her hands.  
   
“Oh, Robbie! Oh, milord, I've been that worried – he slipped away quiet-like... I hope he's not been any trouble...?”  
   
“Not at all. We have spent a wet afternoon reading together.”  
   
“Oh, milord, I'm that sorry...”  
   
Robbie quietly slipped off Papa's lap to go with Nurse, but was stopped by his father's hand on his shoulder. “You may borrow the book, if you like, Robbie.”  
   
Robbie's eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes, please – sir.”  
   
Papa found a bookmark and slipped it in to mark the place before closing the book to give to Robbie.  
   
"Thank you, Papa."  
   
He carried it all the way back to the nursery as though it were the most precious treasure - which indeed it was.


End file.
